I am a huge Gilmore Girls, Parenthood, and Lauren Graham fan. I find her very charming in the roles she plays, and I will probably be re-watching Gilmore Girls until I’m old and gray. I listened to the audiobook, and hearing Graham narrate her own story only added to the charm. I enjoyed hearing the background of her unusual childhood and years as a struggling actor, along with her reflections on Gilmore Girls and Parenthood.

There’s very little dishy gossip on her co-stars here—she seems to have real affection for them but is also open about her hard-won savvy about what to share with the public. What she does share with the public is a love for the families, locations, and stories she’s been privileged to inhabit as an actor, and she brings that nostalgia and affection to her writing and narration. Recommended for any other fans of the shows and her work, and get the audiobook if you’re missing Lorelai Gilmore or Sarah Braverman. One note: Listening at 1.2x speed actually sounded more natural to me because I'm used to her talking so fast on Gilmore Girls.

As Hurricane Katrina headed toward New Orleans, Abdulrahman Zeitoun never considered leaving. He was used to riding out the storm and keeping watch over his painting business and the properties he and his wife, Kathy, owned. Kathy and the four kids would leave, eventually making their way to Arizona to stay with friends, but Zeitoun stayed. As everyone knows, New Orleans soon turned into a disaster area. Zeitoun was largely isolated from it, staying on the second floor and roof of his home at night and paddling through the nearby neighborhoods by day, feeding dogs and helping people who needed it.

He and a friend are in a home he owns, visiting a tenant, when heavily armed authorities burst in and arrest them all. Thus begins an imprisonment filled with indignities, no standard rights, and accusations of terrorism. It's an insightful look into one of the only  parts of the machine that seemed to run like clockwork during Katrina: arrests and imprisonment.

This book is especially interesting not just for its content, which paints Zeitoun as quirky but noble, but also for its aftermath. Since Katrina and the writing of this book, Zeitoun and Kathy divorced, and he was accused of trying to beat her with a tire iron and then with soliciting a hitman in prison to kill her. He was acquitted of both but later convicted of stalking her. He was recently freed from prison after a deportation order couldn't be carried out because of the war in Syria.

It's always interesting to look at the larger story outside of a book, to find out if there are other perspectives or if new events have occurred since the writing--particularly when a person in a nonfiction book is portrayed in a certain way. I believe that most of the story in Zeitoun is probably true, but I also believe that people can be nice to dogs, help out a few neighbors, and still do other horrible things.

Jo Ann Beard beautifully evokes her childhood in the early '60s, a time in which mothers continued to smoke right up to labor, one's own scabs were deeply interesting, and Barbie dolls seemed to get naked of their own volition, knowing that Ken would be the one to get in trouble if they were caught. Beard's memories of the next 30 years are no less sharp and wry, powered by antic melancholy, perfect juxtapositions, and "the push of love." When she was little, "the words of grown-ups rarely made sense," and even now, with the exception of her best friend and a few colleagues, not much seems to have changed.

You've probably heard the raves already, and my view is no different: this book deserves all the accolades it's been getting. I listened to Michelle Obama narrate the audio version of Becoming, and it is worth the hefty commitment (at 19+ hours--though you can comfortably speed up the pace a bit). Obama is an excellent writer who tells small but compelling stories of her youth on the south side of Chicago, her years elite universities and as a fledgling lawyer, and her life with Barack Obama--before, during, and immediately after the White House.

She is highly relatable--focused on her kids, muddling through the ups and downs of motherhood, and indulging in HGTV over political roundtables. Knowing her rarefied educational and professional background, I found her distaste for political life surprising and--again--relatable. Certain memories prompted tears, for different reasons: inauguration night, Newtown, and the 2016 election results, especially. The pressure they were under as the first black presidential family was enormous, and she conducted herself with a grace and dignity that I believe few can match.

I haven’t yet had the chance to read Evaristo’s Booker Prize-winning Girl, Woman, Other, but I thought I’d give her memoir a listen. Evaristo recounts her childhood in England, growing up with eight siblings and a Nigerian father and Catholic mother, and how her drive toward a creative life helped her find her writing voice. Poetry and the theater occupied her early creative years, during which she also explored her sexuality with several queer relationships (one deeply unhealthy), until she moved to writing fiction (and eventually met and married her husband).

The story of Evaristo’s life is interesting, but it’s her compelling voice and deep determination in the face of every obstacle that stand out. Her strength to push–and push hard–toward creative pursuits and success is inspiring. Evaristo narrates the audiobook and it’s worth the listen for any artist.

Charlotte Gill spent two decades working as a tree planter in the temperate Canadian rain forests, doing the back-breaking work of replenishing the trees stripped by clear-cut logging operations. In this memoir, she recounts the brutal, mesmerizing work and her life with the “tree-planting tribe,”–the people inexplicably drawn to the seasonal work that wrecks their bodies and clears their minds.

Gill has a way of making the work sound (almost) appealing, despite the harsh conditions: the connection to the land, the sense of doing something worthwhile, and the camaraderie with her fellow planters. At the same time, she contemplates the logging industry and planters being a part of it–and how effective the planting operations are at replacing the complex old-growth forests. This was a fascinating look at a very particular–and important–niche in the tree canon, and Gill’s poetic voice adds insight and awe.

I've seen this memoir recommended by readers for years, but it was actually the movie trailer that prompted me to pick it up. My impression was that the book was dark and heartbreaking, while the trailer gave the impression that it was about a carefree, inspiring family. I hadn't yet seen the movie when I read this, but I did find the book heartbreaking. Walls seems to cling to the uplifting moments of her childhood, when her father in particular infused their family with a reckless sense of freedom and privilege in their free-spirited rootlessness. While there are appealing elements of his spirit, ultimately the parents' selfishness and neglect is breathtaking, but the resourcefulness of the children is inspiring. (And thankfully, the movie trailer was somewhat misleading. It did stay pretty true to the spirit of the book.)

"One mark of a great book is that it makes you see things in a new way, and Mr. Friedman certainly succeeds in that goal," the Nobel laureate Joseph E. Stiglitz wrote in The New York Times reviewing The World Is Flat in 2005. In this new edition (3.0), Thomas L. Friedman includes fresh stories and insights to help us understand the flattening of the world. Weaving new information into his overall thesis, and answering the questions he has been most frequently asked by parents across the country, this third edition also includes two new chapters--on how to be a political activist and social entrepreneur in a flat world; and on the more troubling question of how to manage our reputations and privacy in a world where we are all becoming publishers and public figures.

I was a huge fan of everything Little House when I was a kid. I read the books over and over, and I watched the television series. This past year, I've been diving back into that world. I've been reading the books aloud with my daughter, but I've also been taking a more nuanced look at the world presented by Laura Ingalls Wilder. First, I read (and loved) Caroline: Little House, Revisited (Ma's fictional perspective on the Little House on the Prairie story), and then I dove into the true story with this detailed biography.

There are parts of Prairie Fires that read like a history textbook; the book is long, and it can get quite dry. It presents the broader historical context in which the Ingalls and Wilder families lived, and that included things like farm loans, railroads, crop pricing, and politics.

At the same time, when the book circles back to the families, it makes clear how these things affected their lives and decisions. As a reader of the books, it was gratifying to learn that many of the events actually happened--but also interesting as an adult to learn of the ommissions, both of events and of character flaws. Most illuminating was the incessant devastation that occurred through their lives: fires, grasshoppers, storms, illness--and ongoing poverty that resulted. While these things were present in the books, the reality of them is a contrast to the idyllic lives we remember.

The later years of Wilder's life were also fascinating--especially her relationship with her volatile daughter, Rose. Their partnership brought the books we love to life, but they would have been quite different without both Laura's measured approach and Rose's editing talent and flair for the dramatic (inserted sparingly, thanks to her mother's reserve). Rose herself is an interesting character, and there were moments when the author seemed to question her sanity. Laura's husband, Almanzo, unfortunately, is not a strong presence. The author drew heavily from the letters and writing of the women, and he was not a writer.

While I enjoyed this biography, because of the length and level of detail, I would only recommend this to other avid fans of the Little House books.

I started listening to this audiobook on a whim, thinking it might be similar to other nonfiction books I've enjoyed by Kelly Corrigan or Anna Quindlen. It was a pleasant-enough listen, peppered with a few general insights that resonated with me (self acceptance, joy in ordinary moments, being fully present).I can't deny her hard-won peace with herself, her past, food, her body, and her place in the world, but for the most part I don't think I was the right audience for Roth's work. I might recommend this for people who have similar struggles with past abuses and body image, but it was probably one that I could have DNFed without regret.

My impression of Jessica Simpson before listening to this book was kind of vague: a little ditzy, but maybe plays into it. A talented singer. Wore those jeans that everyone teased her about (I felt sorry for her). Seems sweet enough. But I wasn’t really a fan or a critic of her.

I only grabbed this one because of so many positive reviews, and I have to say: it’s worth the listen. Jessica lays it all out, so if you want the gory details of her relationships (especially with Nick Lachey and Jon Mayer), you’ll get them. But she’s also thoughtful and reflective. She definitely grew up sheltered, which lends itself to a naiveté that often translates as “ditzy,” but she’s actually quite self-aware and charming. She’s also a surprisingly savvy business woman. Celebrity memoirs aren’t usually on my reading list, but I enjoyed this one.

David Sedaris’ latest book feels like a return to a more familiar humor, especially after Calypso, which was a darker and more poignant reflection on his family (and dealt with the suicide of his sister, Tiffany). As Sedaris ages, his family faces more such losses, and in Happy-Go-Lucky, it’s his father who passes away.

Longtime readers will know of Sedaris’ complicated relationship with his father, and he’s always dealt with it through humor. His father’s death is no exception. The essay collection doesn’t solely focus on his father–he covers the pandemic, absurd outings with family, and more. I laughed aloud more than once, but I also detected a new hint of meanness here that I never saw in his work before. Like everyone, Sedaris has been through a lot in recent years, which could account for those moments. For me, they didn’t overtake his superior storytelling and narration; Sedaris’s audiobooks were the first that I truly enjoyed, and I’m always glad for the chance to listen again.

I listened to this one on audiobook, and at long last I think I've landed on the kind of audiobook that works for the way I listen: short, non-fiction, personal vignettes. I've gone through periods in my life where I did a lot of running, but I wouldn't count myself a runner now, nor do I particularly miss running. Nonetheless, I found Murakami's running memoir fairly compelling. Some of the race recaps were maybe a bit detailed for my taste, but I enjoyed his insights on running and writing (and how he actually doesn't think much about writing or stories while running!). I loved his thoughts on the physicality required to be a writer. As a former competitive swimmer, Murakami's efforts to improve his own swimming for triathlons particularly stood out. Any athlete--especially endurance athletes--will appreciate Murakami's insights into running, his successes and failures, and how they bleed into other areas of his life and work.

This journal shares fruitful reflections on life and career prompted by the author's visit to her personal place of retreat near her country home.

At the age of thirty-six, on the verge of completing a decade’s worth of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live. And just like that, the future he and his wife had imagined evaporated. When Breath Becomes Air chronicles Kalanithi’s transformation from a naïve medical student “possessed,” as he wrote, “by the question of what, given that all organisms die, makes a virtuous and meaningful life” into a neurosurgeon at Stanford working in the brain, the most critical place for human identity, and finally into a patient and new father confronting his own mortality.

This, again, was a timing thing. I needed a book that was more engaging and faster moving, and this exploration of the wayfinding abilities of humans just wasn't the right book at this time. It's a topic that interests me, but this was a little drier than I'd hoped. I may return to it at some point--maybe for Nonfiction November?--and give it another shot.

I’ve never seen the shows that Jennette McCurdy starred in, but the early buzz around her memoir convinced me to pick it up. I’m glad I did. McCurdy’s telling of her young life spent trying to fulfill her mother’s dreams of stardom was heartbreaking, candid, and insightful. Her mother’s manic rages and hyper-focus on Jennette (and especially her weight) meant that Jennette dealt with anxiety and eating disorders from a young age–while bearing the responsibility of providing for her family.

McCurdy details her struggles with both her mother and on the sets of iCarly and Sam & Cat. While this memoir is largely about her relationship with her mother, the revelations about the lives of child actors are also shocking. The title of this memoir is meant to be provocative, but it’s also true. McCurdy loved her mother, and her feelings are more complex than the title would suggest. Her understanding of herself, her own worth, and her path forward was hard won. Her writing is excellent, as is her narration. Ultimately, all I can say is this: she earns that title.

When Julie Chavez had her first panic attack, she knew she had to figure something out. On the surface, her life seemed fine: her librarian job, her two children, and her loving husband made her happy. But each day, she walked a precarious line while juggling the million details that keep a family going. Her worries took over, and she was left with crippling anxiety.

Chavez's honest account of her struggles to manage her anxiety was binge listening for me, because it was all so familiar. I intensely related to the way she described the miserable buzzing of anxiety throughout her body, and I suspect many other women will also see themselves. Our reasons for the anxiety may be different, but the feeling seems common, and Chavez gives voice--and a little hope--to our mostly silent battles.

I've mentioned before that Ann Patchett is one of my favorite authors, and this essay provides a bit of background on her road to authorship, as well advice for anyone struggling with the question of, "What now?" Originally a commencement address at Sarah Lawrence College, Patchett relates to the graduating students who have inevitably been asked the same question by detailing her own uncertainties and circuitous path to success. This is a short audiobook listen and a good reminder that sometimes the most unlikely situations can give rise to the next opportunity and take us on exactly the right journey toward our goals.

I went into this memoir hoping for an in-depth look at what it means to risk reading forbidden books in Iran, with a little discussion of the literature on the side. What I found was an in-depth look at the literature with some side discussion of what it means to be reading it in Iran. This isn't an inherently bad thing--I have read Lolita, so I appreciated some of the literary analysis of it--but it wasn't what I came for. And, not having read some of the other books that were going to be discussed further in this memoir, I felt that I wouldn't appreciate or understand some of the analysis to come. When the book would veer toward the stories of the women and life in Iran, all too soon it would swing back to literary analysis--and it wasn't always related to the unique experience of reading it while living in tyranny. I didn't finish this one.

When the Taliban took control of the Swat Valley in Pakistan, one girl spoke out. Malala Yousafzai refused to be silenced and fought for her right to an education. When she was fifteen, she almost paid the ultimate price. She was shot in the head at point-blank range while riding the bus home from school, and few expected her to survive. I AM MALALA is the remarkable tale of a family uprooted by global terrorism, of the fight for girls' education, of a father who, himself a school owner, championed and encouraged his daughter to write and attend school, and of brave parents who have a fierce love for their daughter in a society that prizes sons.

On a visit to the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem, Margaret McMullan learns of a relative who was killed during the Holocaust. Little record of him exists, and the archivist presses her: "You are responsible now. You must remember him to honor him." And thus begins McMullan's mission to unearth Richard's story, to complete his record at the museum.

She and her family travel to Hungary on a Fulbright, and there she researches the Engel de Janosi family, her relatives who were prosperous prior to World War II. She also uncovers Hungary's shameful role in the Holocaust, and in the deaths of Richard and so many others.

As with any family history, I found it a little difficult to track the many names and relations of the people McMullan found in her research. My interest returned each time she refocused on Richard.

The question she was asked and that will be one for many readers--why Richard? why was he special?--was one of the reasons I admired her tenacity in pursuing him. He seemed quiet, unassuming, unremarkable, but he lived. And he was killed. In her research, she learned more about the man he may have been and that he wasn't as unremarkable as he may have seemed.

Millions of individuals were killed during the Holocaust, and many of their stories were lost. But one man's story was not.

I love a good new TV series, but I also love a good comfort rewatch of my favorite old shows. Friends is one of those, and I finished watching it again just before Netflix stole it away from us.

Anyway, this history of Friends is almost as good as a rewatch. From each of the friends’ journeys to the show to the memorable moments-turned-cultural-touchpoints to the parts that now make us cringe, she covers it all. If you need something light and familiar, definitely give this one a listen.

his memoir, Lyz Lenz proudly claims her status as an ex-wife. She starts with the tipping point, when she finally realized her marriage was over. On the surface, it seemed like a normal mess at home, an annoyance and an inconvenience. But it was emblematic of the thousands of small tasks and messes that fell to her, and of the way she was taken for granted and lost her identity within the marriage and family.

But this is less about the end of her marriage than about the start of her life as a single woman. Lenz describes the freedom she feels in her home, as a parent, and as a woman. Between her personal reflections, she examines marriage as an institution, as well as divorce. While not encouraging divorce for women in healthy marriages, she instead reframes it as a viable and positive step for the women who need it to feel ownership over their own lives. Not for everyone, but well worth the read for many women.

Janice Kaplan spent a year focusing on gratitude in her own life and talking to experts about the ways that gratitude affects our lives. In all areas of life--family, career, health, and even grief--gratitude has a measurable effect on our well-being, our relationships, and our overall happiness. Daily conscious efforts to be grateful can actually change the neural connections in our brains and retrain the ways that we automatically respond to negative situations. This book made me more conscious of my own responses and the ways that I can build gratitude into my own thoughts and actions; read my full review and thoughts on moving through life with more gratitude.

This book about the power of female friendships was a little drier than I expected, but it was peppered with pop culture and personal anecdotes, which kept me reading. I was hooked when the book started with a long reflection on the movie Beaches--a movie I first watched with one of my childhood best friends when we were about ten. It quickly became our all-time favorite, and so this seemed like a book I was meant to read. Even so, this book didn't resonate with me as much as it might with someone a bit younger. It did make me reflect on those wonderful years when friends were everything, and wish that my lifelong friends were not all many states away.

I loved this memoir-in-essays by Mary Laura Philpott, who also works as the "book enthusiast at large" for Parnassus Books, the bookstore co-owned by Ann Patchett (can you say dream job?). Philpott is funny, self-effacing, and reflective as she considers her successes, failings, identify, anxieties, and intentional reinventions, even when things seemed to be perfect on the surface. Perfect if you've enjoyed similar memoirs by women like Anna Quindlen.

Jennifer Finney Boylan’s memoir is an original take on the typical dog memoir. From her boyhood through her transition and adulthood as a married woman with children, this book is less about the dogs themselves than about how their presence punctuated the pivotal moments of her life.

For a person struggling with identity, these dogs were unrelentingly (often hilariously) themselves. Grounding Boylan’s journey–foreign to so many readers–in the relatable love of dogs serves to make her story relatable as well.

Lara Love Hardin hit rock bottom when she was arrested and convicted of 32 felonies. Behind her picture-perfect life, she had a secret: she was addicted to drugs and stealing her neighbors’ credit cards. Jail is foreign, but also familiar, in many ways, to the PTA politics she knew. She wrestles with recovery and soon becomes “Mama Love” to the young and lost behind bars, navigating the invisible rules and power structures among both inmates and jail personnel. After her release, she desperately navigates the impossible probation system, trying to keep custody of her son and make a life for them. She joins a small publishing company and becomes a ghostwriter, inventing a new life for herself while adopting the personas of others to write their stories.

Hardin’s journey is hopeful–she deals with a lot and comes out better on the other side. But it’s also revealing and discouraging, mostly because the journey to success feels unavailable to most of her fellow inmates. Though she struggled financially, her relative privilege as a white, educated, former upper-middle-class woman helped her navigate the roadblocks that seemed purpose-designed for her failure. Most of the others–poor, young, women of color–would not have the wherewithal or resources to do the same. While her personal journey is inspiring, what sticks with me is how it indicts the system as a whole.

In this letter to his son, Ta-Nehisi Coates discusses how the United States was built on and by the bodies of black people, and how those bodies continue to be endangered, used, and abused to maintain a system that thrives on their subjugation. Coates recalls recent incidents of police brutality as well as the long history of race and its importance to those in power--"the people who believe themselves to be white." Powerful, emotional, and filled with brutal, uncomfortable truths that demand to be known and acknowledged.

Set amid the civil rights movement, the never-before-told true story of NASA’s African-American female mathematicians who played a crucial role in America’s space program.

Before Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, a group of professionals worked as ‘Human Computers’, calculating the flight paths that would enable these historic achievements. Among these were a coterie of bright, talented African-American women. Segregated from their white counterparts, these ‘colored computers’ used pencil and paper to write the equations that would launch rockets, and astronauts, into space.

For 27 years, Christopher Knight lived in the woods of Maine without coming into contact with another person. In 1986, at age 20, he drove into the woods and left his car behind for a life of seclusion. He broke into nearby homes and a summer camp for supplies, taking only what he needed to survive. These break-ins made him a legend--elusive, never violent, but unsettling all the same.

He was finally caught during one of his burglaries, and author Michael Finkel was fascinated by the story of the last true hermit. He connected with Knight through letters and interviews. Though Knight wanted no fame and had kept no record of his life of solitude, his story was slowly revealed.

Finkel tells the story of a man with an extreme desire for isolation and how he managed to elude authorities and the intrusion of the outside world for so many years. Knight is a fascinating person, resourceful and singularly focused. I listened to this on audio and it was riveting.

I had never heard of "Frugalwoods," the blog of personal finance and frugality blogger Elizabeth Willard Thames, before checking out this audiobook on a whim. In their twenties, Thames and her husband decided to enact "extreme frugality" in order to achieve their dream of living on a Vermont homestead and being financially independent. They saved over 70% of their joint income--no small thing in expensive Boston--and reached their goal in three years.

I found this book--while fascinating and inspiring, especially regarding ideas of consumption, spending, and need--to be uneven. Thames devotes more time than I would have liked to the details of events like job interviews and giving birth and less than I hoped to the specific strategies she used to reduce their spending by so much. On the whole, it was good food for thought, and it did prompt me to visit her blog and dig into the archives.

Ada Calhoun interviewed thousands of Generation-X women across the United States to understand one thing: why are we all struggling so much? What is with this exhaustion, depression, and endless feeling of being stretched too thin?

The answers are complicated and varied, as are the backgrounds and life experiences of the women interviewed. So many of the struggles stem from the same place: the notion that we can “have it all.”

Calhoun’s book is reassuring in the sense that she provides reasons why so many women feel this way, as well as assurance that we aren’t alone. While she does end on a high note, most of her book does not offer advice for improving Gen-X women’s bleak outlook. And during this time of COVID quarantine, I only felt my anxiety rising. Read it for the solidarity–but maybe wait until the global crisis has passed.

In this reflection on motherhood--part journalistic, part historical, and part memoir--Jessica Grose examines motherhood in the U.S. and how systemic supports have lagged behind societal expectations, leading to burnt-out, stressed, and increasingly desperate women trying to fulfill impossible roles. COVID made this timely, but Grose makes clear that this issue is not new. The pressure to be perfect--at home and at work--comes from all sides, including internally, and is reinforced by judgmental online parenting subcultures.

Grose spoke with many different women, and their backgrounds and stories differ, but the overall feeling of desperation was consistent. Whether you relate to some or all of Grose's assertions, support for parents is no longer an individual issue but a societal one, and her book offers insight into both the problems and potential solutions.

Did You Know?

• • Grose is an opinion columnist on parenthood for the New York Times ¹

• • She read diaries, letters, and historian accounts of motherhood from the past couple hundred years--and found that the emotions of motherhood have not changed much¹

• • She is seeing more hope for better parental support--but mostly at the state level, not from the federal government.²

Sources: 1, 2

When Will Schwalbe's mother was diagnosed with cancer, he began attending chemotherapy treatments with her and discussing the latest books they had read. This soon grew into a "book club" of two, where mother and son shared book discussions, memories, and thoughts on living. At times, Schwalbe's mother seemed both saintly and superhuman in the things that she'd accomplished; the family seemed orbit around her. I didn't love this, but I did love the idea of sharing beloved books with someone who counts reading as a passion as their life comes to a close.

Dear Fahrenheit 451 is the blog I would write if I had a little more snark in me--only in book form. I had so much fun reading Annie Spence's letters to the book she loves, the books she's retiring from the stacks (she's a librarian), and the many books that have stayed with her in various ways.

I actually found this hard to put down--it was such a light, funny read, and I looked forward to seeing if she covered any of my favorites. She hit on a few that I've loved, as well as some others that I'd now like to read. But some of the funniest letters were to the surprising finds that she weeds from the stacks (The One Hour Orgasm and Principles of Bloodstain Pattern Analysis, anyone?). If you love books about books, this is one of my favorites.

A beautiful, powerful collection of poems about Woodson's upbringing in South Carolina and Brooklyn in the 1960s. She feels torn between the two places and tells of their differences and her loyalties to both. We learn of her awakening to the civil rights movement, her love of her family, and her burgeoning drive to write. Wonderfully narrated by the author.

Twenty-six years ago, during the infancy of heart transplant surgery, Amy Silverstein received a new heart. Now in her fifties, that heart is failing, and she again waits for a new heart. Her wait requires a move to California with her husband, and with them, nine of Amy's closest friends sign onto a schedule to keep constant vigil at her bedside. Each bring different histories and qualities to the hospital room and support Amy by turns with empathy, no-nonsense attitudes, shared memories, and persistence. They pass the baton to one another, flying in from across the country for their times with their friend.

This is a brutally raw memoir of suffering and friendship. Amy is unflinching her examination of herself and what it means to be a sick person, dependent on others, and what it means in such a situation to find the balance between caring for yourself and caring for those who surround you. It's precarious, and the scales tip easily when emotions run high, requiring extraordinary feats of forgiveness and understanding from all. Highly recommended.

One January night, Chanel Miller joined her sister and a friend at a party at Stanford. She was drinking and being goofy–and that’s the last she remembers. She woke up in the hospital the following day and learned of her sexual assault. The perpetrator, Brock Turner, had been stopped and chased down by two men.

This event changes Miller’s life. Known by the public as “Emily Doe,” the case consumed her for several years as she navigated a criminal justice system that seemed designed to implicate her and traumatize her all over again. Finally, from the veil of anonymity, Miller emerges with her own voice and shares this gut-punch of a memoir.

Miller is an extraordinary writer–her writing is deeply personal and achingly raw. She puts to words how the assault and ongoing violations affected her in ways that feel both intimate and universal to so many women.

For more than 80 years, the Harvard Study of Adult Development has been following participants. In this novel summarizing findings thus far, the current directors make the case that relationships are the key to a happy life.

Strong connections don't just make for a happier life, but they also predict the overall health of our bodies and brains. Each chapter in this book delves into the different kinds of relationships--family, work, romantic, friendship, etc.--and how we can and should cultivate them in order to live "the good life."

While at times a bit repetitive--the finding is clearly stated upfront and repeated again and again--it is interesting to hear the stories of the various participants. It is definitely a reminder (especially for the extreme introverts--ahem--among us) of the value of reaching out and spending time with loved ones.

Did You Know?

• • Waldinger is the 4th director of the study. They hope and expect the study to continue many decades into the future

• • When the study began in the 30s, it followed two groups of young men: one composed of Harvard students (John F. Kennedy, Jr., was one participant!), and the other of people who lived in inner-city Boston. Regardless of background–even when people had difficult childhoods–strong relationships are the driving factor for happiness, health, and in some cases, financial success.

• • The study has been working to correct and expand on the original lack of diversity, but the decades of data are still valuable. Many of the children of the original participants are now also participating in the study.

Alua Arthur is a death doula who offers companionship and assistance at the end of life. This can mean different things, depending on the client's needs: sometimes it's about accepting that death is imminent, while others, it's about the business and logistics of death. As a former lawyer, Arthur is uniquely qualified to help with both. In this memoir, she recounts her path to becoming a death doula, which included a devastating personal loss. She also offers stories from her work, which puts her right in the face of the gray areas of life: the complexity of grief, forgiveness, acceptance, and more. She also explores her own personal struggles with depression and how her work gave her insight into her own life.

This is an absolutely beautiful memoir, filled with thought-provoking insight on how we all approach death--and life. Arthur is an exquisite writer and narrator; I highly recommend the audio, which she narrates herself.

Roxane Gay's life was changed forever at 12. The victim of a gang rape, Gay began building a fortress around herself, attempting to both keep herself safe and regain control. Instead, she found herself in what she calls an "unruly body," one that, in its obesity, provides some measure of safety while also shrinking her world in various ways. At the same time, she asserts herself as fully human in a world that is determined to dehumanize her: highly intelligent, fully able to love and be loved, and in no way ignorant of the health and nutrition facts people throw at her. Gay is brutally honest and raw in this memoir about her struggles to understand and care for herself--weight, past, and all.

The twelve things that Kelly Corrigan is learning to say are things that we all need to learn to say, and I think women and mothers in particular feel many of these deeply. Corrigan weaves in small anecdotes over larger narratives of family, friendship, and loss. Her reflections bring her to comfort with uncertainty, with deeper listening and less solving, and with setting limits--among other things. Each reader will find something different that resonates. For me, the essays "Tell Me More" and "No" stuck out, but I suspect that will change through the years. Worth a read, and a revisit.

1939: the Germans have invaded Poland. The keepers of the Warsaw zoo, Jan and Antonina Zabinski, survive the bombardment of the city, only to see the occupiers ruthlessly kill many of their animals. The Nazis then carry off the prized specimens to Berlin for their program to create the “purest” breeds, much as they saw themselves as the purest human race. Opposed to all the Nazis represented, the Zabinskis risked their lives by hiding Jews in the now-empty animal cages, saving as many as three hundred people from extermination.

Everyone has a story about where they were on 9/11. The Only Plane in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 compiles those stories, from the people who were there. And "there" was so many places: on the ground, in the buildings, in the planes, in the airports, on the phone, and watching from afar.

This oral history takes us to those places, through the poignant, moment-by-moment reflections of people around the country. You'll hear from firefighters, employees in the World Trade Center and Pentagon, people on the street, reporters and staff aboard Air Force One, and many more. Graff has pulled together these snippets in a truly riveting way; each time I emerged from reading this book I had to reorient myself back in the present (today's news vs. the news from 9/11 was particularly jarring). The confusion of the day is particularly well-captured, from the initial thoughts about the horrible "accident" at the towers, to disbelief that it was happening, to the government's ill-preparedness for such a horrific event, pre-9/11 was truly a different time.

The content is difficult, but this is a must-read for absolutely everyone. I read it in print, but I've heard the audio is also fantastic.

Austin Channing Brown, a Black woman purposely given a white man’s name, shares her experience of growing up and living in a world that caters to whiteness. From the daily microaggressions at school and work to the larger, to more overt examples of racism and white supremacy from both individuals and society at large, her account is both personal and familiar.

She shares the daily, deep exhaustion from managing assumptions about herself and her race, from worrying about the safety of those she loves, and from the burdens of being both the Black voice in the room and the balm for white people’s guilt. And yet, she continues to show up and speak out, and she shares why it’s worthwhile to do so, while acknowledging that she may never fully see the fruits of her labor.

This short book is an excellent, eye-opening, and ultimately hopeful book to add to your anti-racist reading list. Brown narrates the audio and I highly recommend it.

This graphic novel is a memoir of the author's own experience navigating elementary school as a deaf child who uses hearing aids. Cece wants more than anything to find a true friend, but she feels like her hearing aids and her deafness create a barrier between herself and the other kids. They either treat her too differently or forget to speak so she can lip read and understand. Cece soon realizes that she may have differences, but they can be good and even give her superpowers. This is an excellent book to share with kids to discuss the feelings of people who have differing abilities, and how they can view their own differences positively.

A book of "advice on love and life" is not the kind of thing I would normally read, but the raves piqued my curiosity. Strayed, known as "Sugar," the anonymous advice columnist for The Rumpus, gives the kind of advice we all hope to get from our best friends, or our therapists. She doesn't always have the answers, but she does have perspective, and she is searingly honest in her analysis of some of life's biggest questions. At the heart of all of her columns is one life essential: love.

In Big Magic, author Elizabeth Gilbert (of Eat, Pray, Love fame) shares reflections and lessons on living a creative life. While she can get a little woo-woo for my taste, overall I enjoyed her perspective on creativity. Gilbert strives to keep a positive attitude toward the process, craft, and work of a creative life, rejecting the notion that creatives must be tortured souls who suffer for their art. I'm not sure I fully buy into her magical notions of creative ideas as living things, but there's certainly no harm in the visualization. I see more value in it that in the self-flagellation that often occurs when artists struggle to bring something to life. Overall, I love her sense of gratitude for the opportunity to create, and I could see myself revisiting this if I ever find myself despairing over my own creative efforts.

During World War II, Nazi doctor Josef Mengele subjected some 3,000 twins to medical experiments of unspeakable horror; only 160 survived. In this remarkable narrative, the life of Auschwitz's Angel of Death is told in counterpoint to the lives of the survivors, who until now have kept silent about their heinous death-camp ordeals.

The only book on this list that I haven't yet read, this was brought to my attention last year. It sounds lovely and profound--just look at this description: "Beginning with the rediscovery of a long-lost best friend, INTO THE TANGLE OF FRIENDSHIP follows the intertwining stories of a cast of characters for whom friendship is a saving grace. We meet a next-door neighbor facing the death of a spouse, watch two young boys learn what it means to be friends, and feel the heartache of a professional caregiver whose compassion and dedication ultimately come up short. Kephart is concerned with the haphazard ways we find one another, the tragedy, boredom, and sheer carelessness that break us apart, the myriad reasons people stay together and grow. What is friendship, and what is its secret calculus?"

A nonfiction account of how a scrappy crew team from the University of Washington clawed its way to victory in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin.

Regan Penaluna entered academia with aspirations of becoming a philosopher and joining the ranks of others who live a life of the mind, exploring life's deepest questions. What she found was misogyny, deeply embedded not just in the halls of her universities, but in the very area of study she loved. She found herself contending with both the male gaze, but also the "male glance"--a consistent ignoring and devaluing of her work as a philosopher. When she came across a reference to Damaris Cudworth Masham, a contemporary of John Locke, she embarked on a mission to unearth the voices and philosophies of other women of the mind.

Here she examines Masham, Mary Astell, Catharine Cockburn, and Mary Wollstonecraft, both their lives and philosophies, which can't be separated in the telling because of the many obstacles each faced as women attempting to join conversations dominated and gate-kept by men. I am not a student of philosophy and wasn't sure how this book would work for me, but I was surprised to find myself fascinated. Penaluna is a fantastic storyteller, and she weaves her own story into the narratives of the lives of these women, as well as their philosophies, some of which are littered with internalized misogyny, but are also by necessity often focused on the wrong-headed inferior status of women in society.

Corrie ten Boom and her sister, Betsy, were spinsters living a quiet life in a watch shop with their elderly father until the Nazis invaded Holland. They soon became involved in the underground resistance, hiding Jews in a secret room above their shop. Ultimately, they were discovered and sent to prison and concentration camps. In The Hiding Place, Corrie tells their story.

While much of their story is grounded in their deep religious faith, non-religious readers will still appreciate the resilience, courage, and unending positivity they demonstrated in even the most dire circumstances.

Ishmael Beah was a regular 12-year-old boy in Sierra Leone when the war came. He went to school, hung out with friends, and loved to dance and rap in local talent shows. All of that was lost in an instant as the rebels rampaged through villages, killing everyone they found. He found himself on the run. After surviving for months, at times with a small group of boys, at times completely alone, starvation and desperation brought him to a village that seemed safe. Instead, he was pressed into service by the government army, drugged, and trained as a killer. Beah tells his story in a way that is both matter-of-fact and fully cognizant of the innocence that was stolen from him and so many other children. A word of warning: this was so hard to read--at times I struggled to continue, knowing that things were only going to get worse. That it's a true story, for Beah and for thousands of other children, made it feel important to finish.

Just Mercy is Bryan Stevenson's memoir about his early years as a young lawyer when he founded the Equal Justice Initiative, which defends death row inmates, the poor, and others trapped by an unjust criminal justice system, including children. Stevenson recounts numerous cases in which he is stonewalled by a system stacked against his clients, bound by red tape, and filled with corruption. I was enthralled by Stevenson's story--his relentless dedication in such frustrating, impossible circumstances, as well as the cases and often horrifying lives that some of his clients were sentenced to, even when they were children or almost certainly innocent.

Beck Dorey-Stein was working five jobs trying to make ends meet in Washington, D.C., when she responded to a Craigslist ad for a stenographer. She lands in the the White House, where she spends the next five years as the "least important person in the room" and witness to the history of Obama's administration.

Dorey is a talented writer and she lets her twenty-something voice fly as she details the intensity of working among the world's most powerful people--who are supported by a team of very young, very ambitious, and very intense staff members. The juxtaposition of national politics and international diplomacy with the endless drama and poor decisions of Dorey-Stein's own life is stark. Her personal drama (and there is a lot) no doubt added to the intensity of her experience and I found some of it voyeuristically entertaining, but the big fascination here is the machine behind every move the president makes.

Having encountered some of the "D.C. creatures" that Dorey-Stein writes about, the culture she describes was familiar and one that I've always been glad to be outside of. However, I have found--as she did--that even inside this culture, there are many hardworking people who truly care about what they are working toward. I appreciated that she never lost sight of what a privilege it was to have a front-row seat to Obama's presidency. That she was able to write about it in a fun and juicy way made looking back on it with her all that more enjoyable.

I’ve fallen into a weakness for books about trees–I think I find their quiet resilience comforting. So I couldn’t resist this nonfiction book about the remarkable ways that trees communicate, form families, build communities, and sustain one another.

Wohlleben is a German forester with a true love of trees and he explains the science in an accessible, relatable way. My mind sometimes wanders when I listen to nonfiction books like this, but I still enjoyed learning about this secret world.

I like to cook--sometimes--though I've never considered myself much of a "foodie." I've never read Gourmet. But, I DO love well-written food--it always makes me want to cook more, to learn all those little secrets that take food from "fine" to "delicious." So I figured that Ruth Reichl's memoir of her time as editor of Gourmet would at least give me some inspiration to do some cooking. It definitely did, and it also provided a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at the world of Condé Nast--I do love a good insider look at publishing. Gourmet was an institution of the magazine world, known for its meticulous recipe-testing process and for catering to the luxury eater.

As such, its staff lived in a rarefied food world--upscale and out of reach for most. As editor, Reichl toed the line between maintaining the luxury brand and bringing it down to Earth for a new generation of socially conscious readers. Ultimately, Gourmet was undone by its owners' reluctance to move it into fresh spaces (can you imagine a publication now resisting a website?), but Reichl's somewhat unconventional journey to editor and her fight to keep the magazine alive made for fascinating listening.

KC Davis is a therapist who provides advice on caring for yourself and your home during challenging times. In this little book, she acknowledges that struggles, such as neurodivergence, trauma, health struggles (mental or physical), and other hardships can make daily care tasks of the home and self difficult. She emphasizes that care tasks are morally neutral and provides small tricks for completing them, such as starting with manageable amounts of time. Davis addresses specific chores that people may struggle with and offers tips for doing them–or for doing just enough–and gentle messaging to let go of the guilt.

I picked this up on a whim, but I appreciated the tips and parts that resonated with my own particular struggles–I think anyone can find something useful here. The book is an easy, fast read with short, unintimidating chapters, and Davis provides shortcuts for even faster reading. Highly recommended whether you consistently feel overwhelmed by all there is to do in life, or if you’d just like a few shortcuts (and permission to give yourself a break–from the chores and the shame).

This tale of Louis Zamperini’s trials during World War II is so harrowing, you’ll have to remind yourself that it’s not fiction—because you won’t believe that one person could survive all that he did: a plane crash, months at sea on a raft, shark encounters…and that’s just the start. This book was hard to read, but also hard to put down. It stuck with me long after I finished it and provided perspective when day-to-day concerns threatened to overwhelm. It’s worth the reread for that reason alone.

Anna Quindlen's memoir is less the story of her life and more a series of essays reflecting on her own life and how the lives of women in general have changed over the last century. From marriage, friendships, parenthood, careers, loss (and the familial expectations placed on women during those times), to facing our own aging and mortality, Quindlen's reflections have a universal feel for American women even several generations after the baby boomers. I wasn't sure whether to laugh in solidarity or cry in...exhaustion, maybe?...over Quindlen's views on how the expectations of motherhood changed from when she was a child to when she was raising children. The activities, constant supervision, and the need to entertain and enrich every moment. This, from a woman who was a parent when I was a child, at a time that, compared to now, seemed filled with childhood freedoms and less parental oversight in every aspect of life. Or maybe this is the perspective of most children, once they become parents and hold the awesome responsibility. This is the part that stands out, since it is the stage of life that I'm in, but so much of what she says rings of truth, regardless of generation.

As a young child, Tara Westover's upbringing seemed almost charming and old fashioned. Living on a mountain in Idaho, the family strived for self-sufficiency based in faith and closeness to one another. As Tara grew up, however, she realized that their lives were driven by paranoid survivalism, religious extremism, abuse, and possibly mental illness.

Tara's memoir traces the path from her cloistered upbringing--during which she never set foot in school--to her eventual education at BYU, Cambridge, and Harvard.

But more important than her formal educational path is her move toward awareness and a sense of self that wasn't allowed in her mountaintop life. Educated explores her attempts to reconcile this new sense of self and the boundaries she learns to set with the love and longing she feels for her family.

An incredible read both for the excellent writing and the author's thoughtful, unblinking, nuanced look at herself and her own life.

Truth & Beauty: A Friendship is the story of the two-decade friendship between author Ann Patchett and the late poet and author Lucy Grealy. The two women met in college and cemented their friendship in graduate school and the years that followed, as both pursued writing careers. Grealy, who in childhood battled cancer that left her without part of her lower jaw, endured ongoing health difficulties and reconstructive surgeries.

Grealy was a needy, all-consuming friend--talented, tortured, and plagued by both addiction and her need for love, even as love surrounded her. Patchett, for her part, longed to be a part of Grealy's inner circle long before she ever was, and she basked in Lucy's need for her, as well as their shared goals and talent. The two moved toward success together, and the journey must have felt magical and pre-destined, if not always healthy. As always, I love Patchett's writing, and listening to her narrate was a pleasure.

Lab Girl would be an excellent addition to my fiction/nonfiction list of books about trees. Hope Jahren is a scientist who studies trees, plants, seeds, and soil. This book is a reflection on her journey from childhood days playing under father's laboratory tables to leading her own labs and research.

I passed by this book many times before trying it and I am enthralled by Jahren's writing, her keen and poetic observations of the natural world, and her grave, sometimes deadpan and sometimes dramatic narration of the audiobook. Love of science is at the core of Jahren's story, but human relationships also take center stage, particularly when it comes to Jahren's eccentric colleague Bill. They share a devotion to the work and to each other that defines both of their professional lives. Their adventures in science (and the pursuit of science, in the form of funding, equipment, and even livable wages) are delightful and unexpected.

Crying in H Mart is singer Michelle Zauner's intimate memoir of her mother and Korean American upbringing. Growing up, she had a complicated relationship with both her mixed-race identity and her exacting mother--both alternately embraced and rejected. After her mother's death from cancer when Zauner was in her 20s, Zauner revisited to the rich traditions and memories of life with her mother, especially related to food (as found in H Mart).

Zauner deeply grieved her mother and struggled to find footing in her relationship with her father. Her lilting narration will resonate with anyone who has also lost and grieved a loved one.

Pulitzer Prize winner Katherine Boo immersed herself in a slum of Mumbai to tell the stories of the people who live there. Annawadi sits ironically in the shadow of a billboard reading “The Beautiful Forevers” and is pressed on all sides by the growth of the city that is leaving it behind. Boo herself is not part of the story, and she doesn’t need to be. The lives, hopes, and hurts of the families are richly painted and bring home the individual struggles and systemic obstacles that stand in the way of people rising above the inequality into which they are born. For those of us in the U.S., the stories of struggling families in this faraway country feel closer to home than ever in today’s political climate and stratified economy.

I was blown away by Hillenbrand's Unbroken--the storytelling, the research, the detail--and after resisting Seabiscuit despite all the raves, I finally gave in and read it, hoping for a similar experience. I'm sorry to say that I didn't love it. I'm still impressed with Hillenbrand, but I wasn't able to overcome my overall disinterest in horse racing. While I loved Seabiscuit's personality, as well as those of the people surrounding him (and wow, the life of a jockey is tough!), it started to feel like just one race after another. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, sometimes there were injuries. Hillenbrand did succeed in building the suspense in moments--tense races in particular--but I just had a hard time getting invested in the overall arc of the story of Seabiscuit.

A ferociously intimate memoir by a devout woman from a modest family in Saudi Arabia who became the unexpected leader of a courageous movement to support women’s right to drive. Writing on the cusp of history, Manal offers a rare glimpse into the lives of women in Saudi Arabia today. Her memoir is a remarkable celebration of resilience in the face of tyranny, the extraordinary power of education and female solidarity, and the difficulties, absurdities, and joys of making your voice heard.

Sloan Crosley gives an unflinching glimpse into her fumbles through her twenties in this collection of essays--a glimpse that I am happy to relate to from the distance I have. I listened to this on audio, and it was a good light choice--undemanding, sometimes funny, other times cringe-worthy. While I didn't find this particularly memorable, it was--with the exception of a couple of the essays (one that stretched way too long and another that was a little gross)--an enjoyable listen.

In Underland, Robert Macfarlane journeys into some of the earth’s deepest, most unimaginable spaces, including natural caves, mines, urban caverns, and more. He explores their roles in the beginning of human time and their imagined roles many millennia in the future.

Macfarlane evokes both claustrophobia and a dizzying sense of the vastness of time and space. The expedition is an exploration of connections--between places, people, species, and time itself. It will leave you filled with awe at the wonders of the natural world.

Back-to-back listening to two audiobooks about daughters' complicated relationships with their mothers wasn't intentional, but the reflections of each woman are similar though their experiences are quite different. Angelou's mother, Vivian Baxter, sent Maya and her brother away when Maya was just three. They were reunited ten years later, but that abandonment shaped Angelou and her later relationship with her mother. In this memoir, Angelou recounts her path from ambivalence to love and admiration. Baxter was a force and she showed up for Angelou and others in ways that changed their lives. Narrated by Angelou, this is a lovely peek into a complicated pocket of her life.

I've found that a lot of us spend more time than we expected, as adults, thinking about friendships--I know I do. Once we pass certain points in our lives, it becomes harder to make friends because they don't happen naturally due to proximity–and we often have certain ideas of what it means to be a friend. Laura Tremaine here is offering a different way to think about friends, meant to take the pressure off adult friendships looking a certain way

She presents the idea of a "Life Council" that includes 10 different types of friends and the roles they fill in our lives. She’s not saying we all need all of these types, all the time, but at different points in our lives, we may find ourselves leaning on different types. In this book, she discusses each type–they might include work friends, new friends, old friends, fun friends, soul sister friends, and she offers ideas for nurturing each of those friendship, while sharing her own anecdotes and stories of friends who fit different roles. You’ll likely start to think of your own friends, and who fits the role, or what roles are lacking.

I would have loved a bit more about research on friendships and why they are so important–this was so anecdotal. But it was great food for thought, and I loved her tips on nurturing friendships, some of which are purely logistical, which becomes a necessity in adulthood when everyone is so busy. Worth the listen for anyone who enjoys reading about friendships, and who spends time thinking about their own friendships.

This memoir of a man’s relationship with his dog can be slow at times, especially when he delves into scientific explanations of wolves and dogs, but dog lovers will be captivated. The introvert in me experienced some envy at Kerasote’s solitary writing life near a small town in Wyoming, exploring the nearby wilds with his independent dog. Merle may be no more special than any well-loved dog, but perhaps it’s this quiet life that gives Kerasote the space to observe, contemplate, and articulate Merle’s identity and thoughts in a way that makes him seem human. As with most pet memoirs, keep your tissues handy.

Sent by their mother to live with their devout, self-sufficient grandmother in a small Southern town, Maya and her brother, Bailey, endure the ache of abandonment and the prejudice of the local "powhitetrash." At eight years old and back at her mother’s side in St. Louis, Maya is attacked by a man many times her age—and has to live with the consequences for a lifetime. Years later, in San Francisco, Maya learns that love for herself, the kindness of others, her own strong spirit, and the ideas of great authors ("I met and fell in love with William Shakespeare") will allow her to be free instead of imprisoned.

Trevor Noah’s unlikely path from apartheid South Africa to the desk of The Daily Show began with a criminal act: his birth. Trevor was born to a white Swiss father and a black Xhosa mother at a time when such a union was punishable by five years in prison. Born a Crime is the story of a mischievous young boy who grows into a restless young man as he struggles to find himself in a world where he was never supposed to exist. It is also the story of that young man’s relationship with his fearless, rebellious, and fervently religious mother—his teammate, a woman determined to save her son from the cycle of poverty, violence, and abuse that would ultimately threaten her own life.

This memoir by Sue Klebold, mother of Dylan Klebold, who was one of the shooters at Columbine High School, broke my heart over and over again. In excruciating detail, Klebold walks through the day of the shooting, the days, weeks, months, and years that follow, as well as the years she spent raising and loving Dylan Klebold. She recalls him as a loving, easy child who she and her husband raised with care and with strong morals. He had many friends, and it was only after his death that Klebold learned of his depression and feelings of alienation.

Klebold is a thoughtful memoirist, and it's clear she was a thoughtful mother. The agony she felt--and still feels--in the aftermath of the shooting is palpable, and relatable to any parent who realizes they may not know their child as well as they hoped. In addition to the shooting and the details of their lives before and after (she gives a full accounting, both to set the record straight and to lay the facts bare for those who would continue to criticize every decision), Klebold delves into brain health and suicide, and the roles both played in the tragedy at Columbine. She never once excuses Dylan's actions, but she does try to understand them. This was a difficult listen, but it struck exactly the right notes, and I can only wish her peace, compassion, and purpose in her ongoing work to understand and educate.

This past month, I spent several weeks listening to The 1619 Project: a New Origin Story, which expands on The New York Times Magazine’s original 1619 project, described as such: “The 1619 Project is an ongoing initiative from The New York Times Magazine that began in August 2019, the 400th anniversary of the beginning of American slavery. It aims to reframe the country’s history by placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of our national narrative.”

The audiobook, narrated by a full cast (mostly the authors themselves), is a full collection of essays, short fiction, and poetry that explores how slavery built America, and how its legacy persists in every aspect of our lives today. Particularly eye-opening are the many aspects of our history—politics, religion, art, economics—that were influenced by dogged determination to maintain slavery, racism, and inequality as institutions.

There is so much to absorb here, and this is a must-read for anyone dedicated to anti-racist education. I often paused to reflect on what I heard, but I plan to also purchase a hard copy of this book to read and more fully understand each essay individually. There is a plethora of excellent books to read this Black History Month, and this may be one of the best.

I'm new to Samantha Irby's humor essays, and her fans know that her writing is filled with honesty about all the messiness and often embarrassing parts of life. There were essays that I really liked–especially the first one where she declares that the proper response to anyone trying to yuck on your yum is, "I like it!" There's also a great essay where she breaks down how certain episodes of Sex and the City should have gone (she is a writer for the reboot).

Overall, I enjoyed her audiobook narration and blunt honesty, but the essays themselves were uneven for me. Many made me laugh out loud, but others were too over-the-top with bathroom humor for my taste, while others felt overlong and lost their impact (and some suffered from both). Humor is a personal thing, though, and many people love hers. While all of her essays weren't hits for me, I laughed enough that I would try more of her books.

In the 1950s, Henrietta Lacks was a poor black woman in her thirties who died of cancer. Doctors at Johns Hopkins University, where she was treated, took some of her unique cells without permission and used them for research. Those cells then became the basis for important medical advances, and they are still sold today for medical research—yet Lacks’s family has never received any compensation. Heavy on science, but interesting to all readers because of the human element, Rebecca Skloot follows the path of the cells, the research, and Lacks’s family, while discussing important questions of ethics and morality in science and medicine.

Night is Elie Wiesel's masterpiece, a candid, horrific, and deeply poignant autobiographical account of his survival as a teenager in the Nazi death camps. Night offers much more than a litany of the daily terrors, everyday perversions, and rampant sadism at Auschwitz and Buchenwald; it also eloquently addresses many of the philosophical as well as personal questions implicit in any serious consideration of what the Holocaust was, what it meant, and what its legacy is and will be.

As the Russians advanced on Hungary during World War II, Olga Wagner and Tibor Zoltai and their families flee the country. Tibor is pressed into service for the Germans and eventually taken prisoner by the Americans. He nearly starves. Olga and her family make their way to Austria and pursue options for emigrating. It's there that Olga and Tibor's lives intersect. The two families eventually go to Canada under the country's friendly system of indentured servitude for refugees. After years on the move, Olga and Tibor finally marry and settle in the United States, building their family and successful lives in academia and immigration aid. This was a fascinating look at how World War II affected the people of Hungary (a perspective I was unfamiliar with) and one couple's struggle to survive. The author was a colleague of my dad, and I attended the University of Minnesota (where Tibor spent most of his career) and once lived close to where the Zoltais settled in the Twin Cities, so this felt close to home.

In this little nonfiction book, Katherine May examines the literal and figurative concept of "wintering"–of retreating into a more insular, reflective, and healing way of being by some necessity. In the literal, she visits places known for their harsh winters and learns how people there cope and thrive through the dark months. She also examines her own experiences of “wintering,” through difficult times in her life that have by necessity, caused her to withdraw from her normal fast-paced, striving life.

This is a timely book, as the world perhaps starts to emerge from its own long period of wintering, which some have embraced and some have not. May makes a compelling case for accepting those times when wintering is necessary, because to fight them is to delay your own healing. Quiet, meditative, and filled with lovely prose.

In author Jami Attenberg's first foray in memoir and nonfiction, she reflects on her nomadic life in pursuit of her art. Years of crashing on couches, funding her own book tours, and taking odd jobs while doggedly persisisting in her writing were largely satisfying. But as a single woman moving through life in a non-traditional way, she often faced criticisms and questions from those who chose a more traditional path--forcing her to grapple with whether her own was valid.

Whether you chose a nomadic life or not, Attenberg's journey is relatable: at some point, all of us must face what we do and don't want in life, and decide on the big and small things that are important to us--and those things may be different at every stage. Her growing comfort with her own wants and needs is satisfying and insightful. 

This collection of personal essays from Southern Living columnist Elizabeth Passarella has one common theme: change. Whether it’s moving, getting rid of sentimental furniture, or dealing with a health crisis, the stories are familiar to anyone, even if the specifics are different. Passarella has a charming, likable voice and reading this felt like hanging out with a friend.

I loved how she spaced out a series of stories on her struggles to buy an apartment from her neighbor in New York–I was thoroughly hooked and needed to know how it ended. The audio version included an interview with that neighbor, which was a delightful addition. This isn't a groundbreaking memoir, but I thoroughly enjoyed the listen.

James Herriot's heartwarming memoir of his life as a veterinarian in Yorkshire.

On November 15, 1959, in the small town of Holcomb, Kansas, four members of the Clutter family were savagely murdered by blasts from a shotgun held a few inches from their faces. There was no apparent motive for the crime, and there were almost no clues. 

As Truman Capote reconstructs the murder and the investigation that led to the capture, trial, and execution of the killers, he generates both mesmerizing suspense and astonishing empathy. In Cold Blood is a work that transcends its moment, yielding poignant insights into the nature of American violence.

David Sedaris's offbeat personal essays and narration have long been a favorite. He's aware of his own quirks, and he shares them in such a delightful, self-effacing way. Most of his essay collections have been pure entertainment with a hint of sharp observation that always makes them feel smart. Calypso follows this path, but it's darker and more poignant.

The familiar Sedaris family is aging, and with age comes all the attendant self-reflection and life changes. This plays out differently for each family member and affects their relationships with one another. In this collection, most of the family feel closer to one another than they ever have before, with the exception of Tiffany, whose suicide shadows most of the essays here.

Sedaris' writings on Tiffany's suicide, as well as aging, politics, addiction, and regret, make this essay collection darker and more reflective than many of his previous. He is still dryly funny, and the ability to prompt regular laughter while writing about such serious topics is a particular talent.

Sedaris has been writing about his family for so long that they may start to seem like characters, frozen in time on the pages, rather than real people for whom the years are passing. As Sedaris faces aging--both his own and that of his family--so too do his long-time fans, who know them only through the bits and pieces he chooses to share. I anticipate an ongoing change in tone in the coming years, but I will continue to read and listen for as long as Sedaris is writing.

This new collection of David Sedaris' essays and stories will be familiar to any fan, and I enjoyed revisiting them. His fiction stories are always too absurdist for my taste--you can safely skip those if you feel the same.

For those who love the stories of his life and family, though, this is is a nice journey through the years. The essays, including one new one, get more poignant toward the end, as Sedaris reflects on their lives and the family members who have passed away. I do always enjoy Sedaris more on audio--his delivery makes the stories even funnier--and if you can, I recommend listening to this instead of reading.

If you share my interest in the complex role of trees in the ecological community, as well as in climate change, I highly recommend Rawlence's deep dive into the boreal forests of the north. In his investigative journey, he travels to the treelines of places such as Norway, Siberia, Alaska, and Greenland to examine six hardy tree species and how the world is changing on the edges.

It's a fascinating examination of the intricacies of nature, and what you think you know is often turned on its head. Expanding forests in the north may sound like a good thing--more trees!--but the shift in climate that wrought the change has devastating cascading effects at the treelines, through the forests, in the economy, and even in the oceans.

The amount of information here is truly overwhelming--and Rawlence weaves it all into a riveting narrative that combines science with local lore and tradition. The climate predictions across the board are dire, and while this book provides little in the way of solutions or even hope, the hope there is lies in the long-proven adaptability and ingenuity of the forests.

I have never read any Stephen King before because I’m a big fat wimp and I know I’d have nightmares and be afraid to go in my basement (anyone else still give those wide-open storm sewers the side-eye after that clown appeared in It? And I only watched about five minutes of that movie.). But this book is pretty much required reading for anyone who wants to write. King is a prolific writer who knows how to tell a story, and he has great lessons to share with other storytellers.

In this "artful, informative, and delightful" (William H. McNeill, New York Review of Books) book, Jared Diamond convincingly argues that geographical and environmental factors shaped the modern world. Societies that had a head start in food production advanced beyond the hunter-gatherer stage, and then developed writing, technology, government, and organized religion—as well as nasty germs and potent weapons of war—and adventured on sea and land to conquer and decimate preliterate cultures. A major advance in our understanding of human societies, Guns, Germs, and Steel chronicles the way that the modern world came to be and stunningly dismantles racially based theories of human history.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is the story of a dramatic year in Virginia's Roanoke Valley. Annie Dillard sets out to see what she can see. What she sees are astonishing incidents of "beauty tangled in a rapture with violence."

Her personal narrative highlights one year's exploration on foot in the Virginia region through which Tinker Creek runs. In the summer, Dillard stalks muskrats in the creek and contemplates wave mechanics; in the fall, she watches a monarch butterfly migration and dreams of Arctic caribou. She tries to con a coot; she collects pond water and examines it under a microscope. She unties a snake skin, witnesses a flood, and plays King of the Meadow with a field of grasshoppers. The result is an exhilarating tale of nature and its seasons.

This memoir by Eva Hagberg Fisher reflects on her lonely upbringing with a disconnected mother, several stepfathers, and years in boarding schools, and how it affected her difficulties connecting with others as an adult. When a mass in her brain ruptured at age 30, she was forced to allow others into her life. Of particular importance was a friendship with an older woman named Allison, who was battling cancer herself. Allison's friendship taught Eva how to let others love her, without needing to pay them back with anything but acceptance and love. She further learned this when she began suffering from symptoms of something that no one could seem to diagnose.

I found this memoir a bit uneven; there were parts in the first half when the writing put me off and I considered putting it down. But Fisher found her groove when writing about her illnesses and I ultimately became invested in her story--particularly when she dealt with her invisible illness, which I find to be a fascinating and terrible thing that so many people contend with daily. Their suffering is often intangible--difficult to define, sometimes undiagnosable, and hard for people to relate to--which can leave them suffering in silence and wondering if it's all in their head. Fisher covered a lot of ground here, and it's understandable that she wanted to write about her friendships and brain mass, but her struggle with her invisible illness could have made for a satisfying memoir on its own.

I started reading Glennon Doyle’s work years ago, mostly on her blog Momastery. My feelings have always been mixed–I sometimes just found her writing a little too much. What I always appreciated was her relentless insistence that "we can do hard things." Like Marie Forleo’s mantra of "everything is figureoutable," I–and many other women–find these simple phrases bolstering.

With Untamed, her writing, to me, felt more focused and certain than I’ve read before. It’s a memoir of sorts, but also a treatise for overwhelmed women who are trying to be and do everything they’re told they should. She implores women to discover themselves, to trust their own knowing, and build lives that feel true. All messages we’ve heard before, but Doyle’s writing hits hard:

The high mountains exemplify immensity, intensity, and inspiration. In essence, I climb to seek awe.

Jim Davidson

Climbing books aren't usually at the top of my reading list, but after I met Jim Davidson last year (he is my neighbor) and heard about his adventures, I had to read his book. The quote above is one of the things that kept me reading, especially as I wondered why anyone would subject themselves to the brutal conditions of Everest: it's awe.

The idea of awe has been on my mind this year after reading this article from the BBC about how awe and wonder positively affect our well-being, memory, and creativity, and may help with anxiety.

Anyway, Davidson is a relentless pursuer of awe at the tops of mountains, even when faced with the most difficult of circumstances. His previous bestselling book, The Ledge, details a tragic climbing expedition that left his friend dead and him climbing out of a deep crevasse to survive.

In The Next Everest, Davidson tells of his attempt to climb Everest in 2015--a lifelong dream cut short by the largest earthquake in Nepal in 81 years. Almost 9,000 people died, and Davidson was stranded on the mountain. He made it off in a dicey rescue and wasn't sure he'd ever be able to return. He did, in 2017, and he tells the story of leaving a devastated Nepal in 2015, training and working up the courage to return, and finally reaching the summit in 2017.

I didn't know much about Everest before, including the long process of acclimatizing and making short expeditions before the big push to the summit. Davidson also has great respect for the people and landscape of Nepal; Everest is important to the economy and he respects his place in supporting it and keeping the mountain clean and healthy for future climbers.

So while his story didn't leave me with a desire to start climbing, I learned a great deal about Nepal, Everest, and what it takes to reach the top.